


Ricksgiving

by rudddddddy



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: ...mostly angst, ...mostly from rick, Angst, Arguing, Drug Use, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Marijuana, Multi, Rick is a dick, Sloppy Makeouts, Slurs, Verbal Abuse, stan doesn't know what to do with his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudddddddy/pseuds/rudddddddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick spends part of Thanksgiving with Stan and Ford Squared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartbreaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Another fic I worked too long on!
> 
> Anyways, I’m still trying to figure out how to write Stan and Rick, so please bear with me! I’ve also never written for Ford or Fiddleford before so also forgive any major OOC action going on. (Actually, just forgive this entire thing in general.) I started this like a week ago, so I didn’t have as much time/energy to get done as much as I wanted to before Thursday, but hopefully it’s still good!
> 
> There will be a part two, hopefully by tomorrow, but who knows.
> 
> Happy Ricksgiving – I mean, happy Thanksgiving guys! Fuck you!

 

“So, you doin’ anything over the holidays?”

Stan was shaving in front of his bathroom mirror. The foggy reflection didn't made it easy to see Rick, but Stan knew he could recognize Rick's skinny figure anywhere.

he was yanking his jeans on with such extreme vigor, wiggling his hips and jumping up and down, that it was almost laughable -  _almost_ , because Stan didn’t want another two week cold shoulder to happen because of Rick’s pride. 

“Heh. Uh,  _no_.”

Rick’s response was so definitive that Stan rose an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“R-really really, Pines.” After Rick was done tying up the laces of his boots, he stood up to his full height. Walking across the room to pick up a shirt, Stan trained his eyes on Rick's ass out of habit. “You-you act surprised. What? Y-you, you think - you think I’ve got family to be with?”

Stan clenched his jaw, but remained silent.

“News flash: n-not everyone has a grand ol’ time around the holidays, Stan.” Tugging a shirt over his head, he turned around to eye him in the mirror. The little stubble he had around his chin grown across his whole jaw line, casting a light shadow. “H-hate to break it to you, b-but I’ve got no family left.”

Stan’s gaze dropped and their tense silence became awkward. He had never really asked Rick about his family before; he may be a "numbskull," but he knew talking about one's family was a touchy subject for anyone. He figured that if he wanted to tell him, Rick would. And if there was one thing Stan knew, it was that family could be a real pain in the ass.

“Hey, this isn’t - is this your shirt?”

“I think so.” The shirt Rick currently wore looked way too big on him. 

Stopping just above his thighs, Stan’s old high school shirt look ridiculous coupled with Rick’s ripped jeans and smeared eye makeup. Rick looked at himself in the mirror's reflection with appreciative eyes.

“L-looks like it,” Rick confirmed, nodding, but didn’t make a move to take it off.

“You _can_ keep it - “

“Yeah, looks better on me any-anyways, Pines,” Rick quickly interrupted. Stan refrained from rolling his eyes as he walked into the bathroom to get a better look, standing beside him. 

Their differentiating body types was almost outrageous - everywhere Stan was big, Rick was thin. Every finger on Stan’s meaty hands was lithe on Rick’s, and even his large jaw bone was opposite of Rick’s weak, pointy one. But comparison aside, seeing Rick in Stan’s shirt made him happy in a way he couldn’t put into words, so he didn’t.

“Y-you - you done in here yet, stud, I’ve gotta take a piss.”

“Tsch,” Stan tried to say with a grimace, but ended in a smirk anyways. “Charming like always.”

"You know it, baby," Rick almost growling, wiggling his brow. "I'm like a fuckin' - I'm like prince fuckin' charming."

" _That's_ debatable." Charm wasn't necessarily something Stan would put on Rick's Top 10 Attributes list, if you catch his drift.

Stan still didn't have his shirt on (since it now had a new owner) and there was no way in hell his barrel chest was going to squeeze into whatever piece of ripped-up cloth Rick identified as a shirt. Riffling through his drawer, his mind traveled to last night.

Having the whole house to themselves while Ford and Fiddleford were out chasing whatever weird eight-eyed turkey was causing mayhem on the streets of Gravity Falls coupled with Stan pretending he was too sick to go, provided them with the perfect evening to be alone. And with the meal they were having later that night, Stan thought - _of course,_ the perfect way to end a day is food and sex.

Hence, how Rick came up in conversation earlier that week.

Ford and Fiddleford were not stupid, and not nearly as ignorant of Stan’s sexual activities as he thought they were. Turns out all those times Stan thought he and Rick were being quiet really was laughable - because they already knew about it by the time Stan finally told them that he had a  _sort of_  boyfriend (not that they ever had any clear label for that they had, but “sort of boyfriend” was better than “friends with benefits” or worse: “fuck buddy.” Anyways.)

"We know," Ford said.

"Okay - wait, you _know?"_ Stan repeated.

"Yes, we know." Ford currently had his nose stuck in some papers, while half of it sprawled out on the table and the other half on the kitchen floor. Fiddleford's face was red now that Stan bothered to shoot him a look. Embarrassment wasn't quite the word Stan was looking for when his own face took on a more pink color itself.

"O-oh," He said. He started laughing nervously, then cleared his throat. _We are never having sex with them in the house ever again,_ Stan thought, then rolled his eyes internally. _Yeah, right._ As if Rick would even listen to him.

"Well, you've never met him, but… and I know this is kind of a lot to ask of you guys, at such short notice, y'know…" Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you think it would be alright if I asked him - Rick - if he could come over?"

Ford looked up, and fixed his glasses, putting on a gentle smile. "Sure, Stan."

"Thanks, Ford," he said, relieved.

Fiddleford coughed at Ford from across the table, trying to communicate something to him with just his eyes.

"Ah, um…" Ford's face fell as he nervously glanced at Stan. He very minutely shook his head before getting up. "Well, if that's all, Stan, we better get back to work. I'm going to, the uh, bunker to get some…samples." He looked at Fiddleford before patting Stan's shoulder. "Thanks for asking. We'd love to meet him, Stan." Then he left.

"Well that wasn't weird," Stan announced obviously.

"I don't know what you mean," Fiddleford said, his face already buried back in the papers in front of him. Stan rolled his eyes as he left the kitchen. _Nerds_.

_

So there Stan was, debating whether he was really going to go through with this, because "the worst he can say is no" response doesn’t really apply when Rick could, in reality, do _so_ much worse. Laughing in his face and making fun of him would be just the beginning. He was always sort of an ass, but this could be potentially horrifying.

Was Stan really going to put himself out there like that, only to receive severe backlash? How insane, how stupid, would that be?

But he thought more about what Rick said before.  _I’ve got no family left._

He knew what it was like - hell, he’s lived that way for years. He knows what it’s like to spend Thanksgiving eating gas station pizza in your car, or dine and dash a highway dive over the holidays.

Stan’s done some pretty terrible shit, but it could have been avoided if he had people to be with who cared about him even a  _little_ bit. And Stan wouldn't expect Rick to think of them as family - Rick would probably get nauseous just at the thought - but he doesn’t want him to be alone either.

Rick announced his return from the bathroom with a loud blech, making Stan roll his eyes.

“Hey…” Stan called, and when Rick looked over at him, he hesitated. “So, I was thinking about what you said earlier, and. uh, what about… maybe you could…”

“Spit it out, Pine Tree,” Rick said with a bored expression.

“I’m getting to it, cool your jets,” Stan fired off before sighing deeply. “What if…you came over to eat with us for Thanksgiving?”

There was a pregnant pause before Rick threw his head back, laughing meanly. 

Apparently laughing in his face wasn't as far from the truth as Stan thought.

He frowned. “It’s not that - “

“Oh, ho ho ho - no, Stan - that’s _hilarious!”_ Rick clapped his hand on Stan’s shoulder. Rick’s usually handsome demeanor was marred by his bitter laughter, and Stan regretted even  _thinking_ about asking him. “Imagine it! Me with you-your brother, and - and that hillbilly guy,  _eating together._  Jesus, Stan, you should get into comedy.”

“Alright, already.” Stan shoved his hand off of his shoulder, his ears burning. “I get it. You don’t always have to act like a fucking dick about these kinds of - ”

“W-woah there, Pines - ” Rick reached for him again, but when Stan shoved his hands away again, he forced his arm to sling across his shoulders. “No, really, I could get - I could get into it. Maybe, maybe not the stupid, earth holiday, but consider  _this_ - “

He pulled Stan so close to him that he thought Rick was going to kiss him, which wouldn’t have gone over well. The last time Rick tried to kiss him when he was pissed, Stan nearly socked him in the jaw.

“Wh-what if it’s just you, me, and a good,  _long_ weekend at some sexy hotel, huh? Eating my ass has to be way better than eating some - some fucking turkey.”

Stan couldn’t believe Rick was serious, but then again Rick was hardly serious. 

“I can’t,” Stan said, backing up slightly. “This is my family, Rick. And they’re not - well, we don’t always get along, but… I just thought, I dunno…” Stan felt mortified that he was even saying this out loud, but there was no going back now, was there? “I just thought that maybe you’d like some people to be with. Even if it is a ‘stupid, earth holiday.’”

Rick’s brow shot up a second before his face grew blank. 

 _Great_. Stan’s stomach twisted into knots.  _Here comes the cold shoulder._  

Rick always withdrew into himself when Stan shot him down, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was obviously trying to look like he wasn't affected. _God forbid_ Rick show that he gave a damn about something for once.

“W-wh-what? You think they’d even care - that they’d really _want_ you there?" Stan couldn't help but flinch at Rick's tone, but he didn't back off. "You and your bro still have issues - a million and one issues to deal with. A-a-and I may be the smartest guy in the multiverse, but a fucking - a fucking _retard_ can see this train wreck a mile away.”

Hot anger flooded his body, and he felt his hands clench into a fist. “You don’t know _shit_ about my brother, Rick.”

O-oh, but I do, don’t I?" _Rick thinks this is just a big joke._ Stan began to feel sick.

“Rick, c'mon…" he started.

"'Oh, Ford wants me back! My bro - my own twin wants me back!'" Rick was mocking Stan in a poor impression of his voice, but it didn't deter Stan from _really_ wanting to punch him in the face. "Oh but wait - he doesn't _really_ want me here anymore. I – I’m so surprised, I feel so used! So abandoned! Guess he doesn't want - doesn't really want me here when he has a much b-better, much _smarter_ partner - '"

"Rick, shut up."

"'That follows him around like a puppy! Guess he finally got a new bitch, and doesn't need _me_ around anym - '"

"Rick," Stan shouted loud enough that it made Rick snicker. "Shut the _fuck_ up, already, or I - ”

“Or you'll what." Rick leaned in, and turned his head to the side. He _wanted_ Stan to punch him? "Those are fighting words, tough guy. If you had any - if you really had the balls to hit me, you'd do it.” Then he tapped his cheek with two fingers.

Stan was at a loss for words. His anger washed out of him and was replaced with such mortification that he couldn't even maintain eye contact with him. Jesus, was that really what Rick thought of him?

"I’m not going to hit you, Rick."

"Pft." Rick leaned back, his arms folded in front of him. "Thought so."

What was it about Rick that made him want Stan to hit him? He knew Rick was pretty fuck up, but…

“I don’t fucking need this,” Rick suddenly snapped, snatching his leather coat from Stan's chair.

Stan's heart took a dive for his stomach, “Jesus, Rick, at least let me make my point - "

“Yeah, I g-got your point right here - " Rick flipped him off, straightening his collar with the other hand. "It’s going to be a train wreck, and you-you know it, and you j-just want me to tag along to your stupid fucking plan just in case it doesn't go as well as you think it will. _Admit_ it, I’m your _rebound_."

Stan just stared at Rick. Where was this even coming from? “Rebound from what, Rick?”

“From your brother - n-not, like, sexually. Jeez, Stan don’t give me that look. You already told me threesomes are out of the question, _whatever_. The point is, I’m just some t-tight squeeze you can fall back on if things go to - go to shit. I'm not your fucking shoulder to cry on.”

“You’re blowing this way out of proportions,” Stan said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you would honestly think that of me, Rick.”

“Oh, like you haven’t thought worse from me? ‘Traveling dimensions is bad for you, Rick. Fucking various alien species is wrong for your health, Rick. Stay with me and - and experience a new level of _hell_ in the form of a fucking holiday with my 'family,'" he said, using air quotes.

“That’s because you're an asshole,” Stan snapped.

“Ugh,” Rick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I can't believe you think that of me, _Stan_ ,” he mocked.

“Are you - ?” Stan rubbed his hands on his face in a vain attempt to rub out his frustrations. “You’re fucking kidding me, right.”

“See, this - this is why I never spend the night here. A nice good fuck is _wasted_ on morning-afters like this, Stan. I can't - can’t even say 'I told you so,' cause it’s still my fault  _like always_.” Rick palmed his portal gun, but Stan noticed his hands were shaking.

He was about to say something when he heard the front door open and two additional voices filled the home in a chatter.

"Stan!" his brother called from the bottom of the stairs. "Get up! We snatched the Gobblergoblin, but we need your help getting it out of the cage."

"You need to go," Stan hissed just as Rick shot a slap of green goop on his bedroom door.

"Way ahead of you," Rick muttered, and stepped through it without another word, not even looking back.

Stan stood there, staring at the door for a few moments until the door burst open.

 _"Shit-!"_ Stan nearly fell backwards.

"Stan, are you alright?" Ford asked, concern in his eyes.

"Uh, yeah," he said a bit flustered. "Sorry…"

"Its fine, but we need your help… um, Stan?"

"Yeah?" he said behind his hands as he rubbed his face.

"Why don't you have a shirt on?"

"Oh," he said, looking down and feeling like his ears were on fire. Did he seriously fight with Rick without a freaking shirt on? "Sorry, I - uh, I just woke up."

"Okay," Ford said uncertainly before clearing his throat. "But - well, we could really use your help downstairs. This mutated turkey spits acid, and the cage isn't holding up well."

"Right, sorry, sorry. I’ll be down in a second."

After Ford closed the door, Stan went to find a shirt until something horrific dawned on him.

Looking back down at his chest, he groaned when he saw _very_ clear red and purple markings on his flesh that were obviously very fresh. Shit. There was _no_ _way_ Ford didn't notice - Stan was way too pale for it to be hidden.

"Goddamn it," Stan muttered as he bitterly dug around for a shirt.

_

"It is too bad that your friend didn't show up."

It was after the meal - which was fucking awesome, thanks to Fiddleford. Who knew the guy knew how to cook so well? And if the question of whether Southern comfort food should be served during Thanksgiving, the answer should always be _fuck, yes_.

"Nah, it's okay," Stan said, shrugging. He didn't tell them what really happened, just hinted that Rick was busy and they were kind enough to drop it. He was a little peeved that Fiddleford would bring it up again, though.

Ford was outside, feeding some of the creatures they kept in the bunker and Stan was assigned dish duty. He didn't mind, though he wondered why Fiddleford chose to hang out beside him instead of joining Ford, or foregoing Stan's presence for something else nerdy. 

"Um, Stan, excuse my forwardness," Fiddleford started hesitantly, and Stan looked over at him. "But this friend…he is _with_ you, right?"

"Oh, uh…" Stan laughed nervously before trying to figure out how to answer that. He knew not to be scared, because really - fuck what anyone thinks, right? But it was still awkward nonetheless. "Yeah, I mean. You heard what I said to Ford yesterday, so..."

"I know, I know," Fiddleford said, "it just makes me wonder why your boyfriend wouldn't want to stop by and say howdy, at the very least." catching onto the Stan's grimace at the word "boyfriend," he rose an eyebrow. "I’m guessing you two fellows ain't exclusive?"

"In a manner of speaking…" Stan said, embarrassed. He liked Fiddleford alright, he was a bit hickish for his tastes, but he was friends with his brother. But this was slightly…weird.

"Can you not tell Ford?" Stan asked. "I know I haven't been the best…uh, house guest."

"No kidding," Fiddleford said, but he wasn't mean and Stan had to laugh.

"Yeah, but just… Rick's different. He isn't one to get tied down. Ford may not be a prude, but I know my brother well enough to know he’d find it…‘distasteful.’"

Fiddleford inspected him behind his glasses and Stan swallowed under his calculating gaze. Geez, what was it about nerds that made their looks almost soul-searchy?

"I do wonder - and pardon me if I’m poking my nose around where I shouldn't, mama always said I had the tendency to do that. But, it _sounded_ like you really like the guy, Stan."

"I do," he nodded.

"Beyond…whatever you currently have with him, I mean."

"Oh," Stan's voice fell flat.

"I don't mean to bring in a big stink about this, but I can't Stand not helping a friend. That being said, I think you should consider the fact that this…Rick might not want what you do. He might never." his eyes were soft and Stan's heart tightened in this chest just a hair. "And, this is just my unsolicited opinion, but if you want to move on without him, no one would blame you."

Fiddleford stopped talking and just looked at him, and Stan realized that his eyes were watering. Turning away, he blinked rapidly, trying to laugh it off.

"Sorry, got soap in my eyes," he said, waving it off.

Fiddleford waited until Stan was more composed before he put his hand on Stan's shoulder.

"I’m sorry for upsetting you - "

"You didn't upset me," Stan said defensively.

"Well, in any case, I’m sorry. And I know you have your brother, but I do hope that we can, in some ways, become friends." Fiddleford smiled, and Stan couldn't help but smile back.

When he finally took his hand off, Stan felt like a weight was lifted off his chest. He felt…better. And he had Fiddleford to thank, of all people.

_Guess the old hillbilly isn't so bad, after all._

"I thank you for letting me poke around in your brain for a bit, Stan," Fiddleford said, flashing one last warm smile.

"Yeah…" he drifted off, watching him leave the kitchen.

He faced the sink again, noticing his hands have been partially submerged underwater during most of their conversation, and were all pruny. Cursing, he took his hands out and started wiping them on his shirt. Sighing, he decided to take a well-deserved break from washing dishes and opened the fridge to take out a can of cold beer.

Sitting at the table, he drank his first gulp slowly. Mulling over his conversation with Fiddleford, he put the can down and it took a minute to register that he had put them on some of the papers thrown across the table.

"Shit," he hissed, taking it off quickly, but a wet ring had already leaked through quite a few of them. They looked important, too. "Goddamn it."

They’d already given him shit about using coasters before, and it would be really awkward after the positive conversation he had with Fiddleford to try and explain why so many of their papers were wet.

 _This is what happens when you think the entire house is your goddamn workspace_ , he fumed, getting up to fetch a towel to try and save some of their work, when the front door pounded loudly.

Shooting up, he rolled his eyes. Ford must have locked himself out in his rush to feed whatever creatures he kept in the bunker. Again.

"Alright, Ford, hold onto your pants," he called, walking up to the door.

And saw none other than Rick Sanchez slouching just outside the door.

"Heh, I’m not Ford, but holding on - onto my pants will be a little hard arouuggGGHHnd you, _babe_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unBeta'd, so please forgive any random tense change or grammatical mistakes. 
> 
> Chapter title provided to you by : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_-QtXBP_F0
> 
> Reviews are appreciated!


	2. Dear Wormwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo-weee! This is long as heck!!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. I almost had to split it into 3 parts, which would have been excruciating. (This thing’s long af, it was only suppose to be a oneshot fml.) Sigh. Hopefully it was worth the wait!!
> 
> Also, I don’t want to spoil anything, but there’s a reason this is mature so just...take that as you will I guess.

It was eight o'clock at night, and all Stan wanted to do was go find a shovel and bury himself in the backyard.

Stan would have been happy to see Rick change his mind and join them for thanksgiving if it weren’t for the fact that a) Rick was drunk off his ass (and probably pretty high, too), and b) he was eating the leftovers that took Fiddleford ages to put away. And to make matters worse, Ford and Fiddleford both joined them at the table, insisting that they wanted to meet Rick.

_Meet Rick._  Ugh. Now Stan  **really** wished he could go back in time to stop himself from inviting Rick over in the first place.

“Who is it?” Fiddleford called out from the other room.

“What are you  _doing_ here?” Stan hissed at Rick in a whisper.

“Hey, nice to - to see you, too stud,” Rick replied loudly. “And besides, y-you asked me over, rem - remember? So here I am, and ready to eat motherfuuUUGHHHcker!”

Shit, not only was he high, but he only burps this obnoxiously when he’d drunken a _lot_ of liquor. Visions of Rick drinking and shouting at their dinner table flashed through his mind like a horror flick, and Stan swears to god he almost had a heart attack.

“ **No** , Rick!” Stan tried shut the door on him when Fiddleford rounded the corner. _Great_.

“Oh, um…” Fiddleford’s eyes widened at the sight in front of him: the ridiculous way Rick was dressed and how red-eyed he looked coupled with Stan pushing furiously against the door to keep Rick from getting inside like some kind of rabid dog - yeah, Stan could understand why Fiddleford looked so puzzled.

“Eyyy,” Rick said, trying to snap his fingers into a gun but failing terribly. “y-you - you must be the guy that helps ouuUUGHHHt, yeah?”

Rick gave a solid shove, which was impressive given his drunken stupor, and the door nearly smacked against Stan’s face.  _Fuck fuck fuck_ \- he now had to watch whatever disastrous scene that would play out before him. He could already imagine being told Rick being banned from the house. 

“Nice to meet you…?” Fiddleford prompted, raising a hand politely.

“Rick, I’m Stan’s boy-toUUGHHHy.” he then leaned forward and whispered not-so successfully, “Though s- _some_ would argue that he’s mine, heh.”

Stan wasn’t sure if Fiddleford’s face scrunched because of the burping, the spit that flew out of Rick’s mouth when he spoke, or the  _incredibly_ inappropriate joke that Stan was, in a sense, _Rick’s bitch_ , but Stan  _really_ wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“Well, when do we eat?” Rick asked loudly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Wh-when’s dinner, again?”

“Um,” Stan started uncertainly but Fiddleford jumped in.

“Actually, we already ate,” he said, forcing a smile as he walked towards the kitchen. “But we have leftovers, if you’d like.”

“Hell yeah,” Rick said, following Fiddleford. “I’m stauUUGHHrving.” 

Not wanting them to be alone for a single moment, Stan followed them into the kitchen with a pounding heart and eyes trained on Rick’s eye move. Rick, seemingly oblivious to his stares, looked around the room a moment before plopping down on the table. Stan quickly moved to Fiddleford’s side.

“Fidd,” Stan whispered as the other had his head ducked into the fridge, shuffling food around. “You don’t have to do this.”

Fiddleford cocked an eyebrow. “He’s a guest - ”

“Hey, yeah! I’m a **guest** , Stan!”

Stan breathed in deeply. 

“And it’s no trouble,” Fiddleford continued with a small smile. “And it’s like my mama always said, any friend of you is a friend of mine.”

“Heh, yeah, we’re  _friends_ alright - ”

“ _Rick_ ,” Stan snapped, glaring daggers as he snickered at his expression. He had brought his legs up in front of him and pressed his shins up against the side of the table. How he kept himself from falling backwards while remaining stationary was anyone’s guess. 

Sticking his tongue out, Rick lifted two fingers in front of his face and wiggled his eye brows at him. Stan wanted to  _kill_ him. 

Thankfully, the front door opened and Ford walked into the kitchen with a now empty bucket and his glasses skewed. Fiddleford’s expression immediately brightened.

“How was - ”

“That was the worst I’d ever seen them,” Ford sighed. Setting the bucket on the counter, he rubbed the space between his eyes, not yet noticing the surprise guest at the table. “The shape shifter - they didn’t want to eat and…” he shook his head. “They starting to act up again.”

“Oh, Ford,” Fiddleford murmured, reaching out to put his hand on his forearm. He then reached forward and fixed his glasses. “We’ll talk to them in the morning. I’m sure they just needs fresh air again.”

Ford smiled kindly at him, his shoulders relaxing. “You’re probably right.”

“I usually am.”

“So,” Rick announced loudly, followed by a belch that made Ford nearly shoot up a foot in the air. “Shape shifter, y-you say? Like to see - see one of those puppies one day.”

Ford turned to stare at the man at the table. 

“Stan is that - ?” Ford squinted his eyes, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to see better.

“yes.” Stan shifted his eyes from Ford, to Rick, to Fiddleford, and back to Ford. “Ford, this is Rick.”

“Hello,” Ford said hesitantly, a little embarrassed. 

“Yo,” Rick said, doing another one of those stupid finger-gun snaps. Stan rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

_

And he was right. He didn’t know why Ford and Fiddleford insisted to subjugate themselves to Rick’s antics, but there they all were: sitting around the table, watching Rick eat Fiddleford’s country fried steak and potatoes. 

Rick was a surprisingly good eater. For a guy with such a…personality, he was pretty polite when it came to eating: wiping his face with a napkin instead of his sleeve and cutting patiently into his food instead of ripping it apart. Stan had only eaten with him a handful of times, and every time Stan could remember, Rick was never very messy, if at all. It was one of the things he liked about him, and he could only hope that Ford and Fiddleford would overlook the more obnoxious parts of him in favor of things like this.

“So, Rick,” Ford said. The sleeves of his brown sweater reserved for chilly months were rolled up, showing off a few of the scars he’s accumulated during his time in Gravity Falls. If Rick noticed, he thankfully didn’t comment on them. “What is it that you do exactly?”

“I’m a man of science,” Rick said after he swallowed. “I have a few projects I’m work - working on. Right now, I’m making a spa-spatially tessellated void, see if it m-makes a planet. I travel through the universe some-sometimes, too.”

Ford’s and Fiddleford’s eyes met before laughing nervously. Catching on, Rick frowned. “What, you think - you think I’m fucking kidding you? I have a portal gun, geniuses, I leave – I-I can leave whenever I fucking want.”

“A ‘portal gun,’” Ford repeated in disbelief.

“d-did I fuckin’  _stutter_?” Rick snapped, and when his brother looked at him, Stan shook his head quickly. 

“Well, we’re actually working on a portal, too, of sorts,” Ford said, offering a smile. “Technically a trans-universal portal. It should be completed in - ”

“Uh,  _yeeaahh_ ,” Rick said loudly, interrupting him. “I w-wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Excuse me?” Ford said, a little tightness in his voice.

“He’s just kidding,” Stan said quickly.

“I s- _said_ , I wouldn’t do that unless y-you really know what you’re doing,” Rick said over Stan, now glaring at Ford, daring him to challenge him. 

“But I _do_ know what I’m doing.”

“Pft, obviously not if you - if you’re making a trans-universal portal.” Rick folded his arms across his chest. “L-listen, I’ve been around the universe a few times, and - and let me tell you, whatever you’re doing - wh-whatever that portal is, it’s not good. But what do  _I_ know, right?”

“Yes, and how  _is_ it that you know these things, Rick?” Ford asked, leaning over the table towards him. “What sorts of credentials do you have?”

Rick snorted. “I-I don’t need any.”

Ford chuckled, and Stan heard Rick’s fork scrape against his plate. 

“While that may fly in the universe, on planet earth, education is incredibly important. And I’ve studied anomalies for most of my life.”

“the-the-the education system is _broken_ ,” Rick snapped.

“I have 12 PhDs,” Ford said with equal force. 

“Pft, s- _so what_ ,” Rick said with an eye roll. “I d-didn’t even finish high school. School’s for morons anyways.”

Stan didn’t have to look at Ford to know he was pissed. He’d let this gone on long enough, but while he fretted, Stan was surprised to see Fiddleford look amused by the whole thing. When he caught Stan staring at him, Fiddleford shook his head with a shrug as if to say  _what are you gonna do?_

What  _was_ he going to do? Ford and Stan had something surprisingly in common: their pride. Neither will ever relent, and Stan was relieved when Fiddleford finally spoke up.

“Well, we do work together,” he said with surprising kindness. “Two heads have to be better than one! So no worries, brother, we’ll figure it out.”

Rick stared at him before a stiff laugh left his lips. “Yeah, okay, hillbilly.”

“Actually, the name’s Fiddleford,” he said, and Rick did a double take.

“ _That’s_ your name?” Rick said, laughing. “Oh, uh…  _wow_. Your parents must’ve  **really**  hated you,” he ended with a sneer.

"Rick - ” Stan started at the same time Ford snapped, _"What?"_

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright,” Fiddleford said with a small smile. “It’s nothing I’ve never heard of before, ‘sides…” he threw Rick a raise eyebrow. “I’d honestly like to see you try your best. I’ve heard it all before, Rick. …And I’m from the South.”

“Huh,” Rick said, with a smirk but looking effectively less mean. “I respect that, hillbilly.”

His smile faltered. “It’s Fiddleford.”

“I am not calling you that. Any nick - nicknames?  _Pet names_?”

“Well, my last name is McGucket.” Rick’s eyes widened at the same time Fiddleford’s smile returned. “And do try to think of something original.”

"oh, ho. Challenge accepted, belle,” Rick laughed.

"Belle?” Ford unwisely questioned.

“Like Southern belle,” Fiddleford said with a knowing smile.

“Ha, see? T-this guy’s got it!" 

Stan heard Ford grumble from across the table, and noticed that the tips of his ears were turning red. He snorted - was Ford honestly getting upset that they were getting along? (Well, at least Stan  _thinks_ they’re getting along.) Served him right…

In any case, the atmosphere at the dining table finally relaxed, and Stan allowed himself to laugh along with Rick and Fiddleford. Ford would come around, Stan thought as he watched his brother’s lips twitch. Rick wasn’t dead, so at least it was a step in the right direction.

“I can take your dishes,” Fiddleford said, getting up.

“ _Thank_ you,” Rick said, throwing his arms behind his head. Shooting Stan a look, he thought he saw a look of hopefulness before Rick winked at him. Stan shook his head, but smiled back. 

“So you fellows want any coffee?” Fiddleford asked as he set the dishes in the sink. “Me and Ford usually stay up, so I’d be no trouble.”

“Eh, yeah, why not?” Rick shot Ford a look. “If it’s _no_ _trouble.”_

Ford rolled his eyes. 

While the coffee was being made, Rick and Fiddleford talked some more, and once Rick stopped being so annoying, he was actually pretty pleasant. A sense of pride welled up in Stan’s chest as they talked. _This_ was why he liked Rick so much. He wasn’t an asshole all the time, so when he actually allowed himself to talk like a regular human being, it was more than welcomed. 

Fiddleford eventually got around to asking how Stan and Rick met. It was a slightly awkward conversation to cover up the fact that Stan was fighting at the same bar the flesh curtains were playing at, way before Ford even asked him to come to Gravity Falls. there was only so much that Stan wanted them to know, so he purposely cut out what was going on in his life while Rick filled in - in probably more detail than was necessary - about what was happening in _his_ life at the time. _Which_ , Rick had gloated, _was a hell of a lot better than, say, building a portal in the woods._

“So,” Rick finally drawled. “How long have you two been together?”

_What?_  Why would Rick ask a question like that after they just started warming up to him? 

Stan turned to berate him when Fiddleford interrupted him, “a few months now.”

Stan’s mouth opened comically. His eyes zeroed in on the way the duo sat next to each other, at the way Fiddleford’s hand clasped Ford’s, and they widened.  _Oh…_ OH.

"wait, wh-what, you two are  _together?_ ” he stuttered. “I thought you guys were just - y'know, science partners… not  _partner_ -partners.”

Beside him, Rick snorted.

“Pft, as if it wasn’t obvious,” he said. Ford cast a glare at him. “What? What is this, kindergarten? ‘Partner-partners?’ Really, St - ?”

“We  _are_  science partners,” Ford interrupted before facing Stan. “We’ve only just recently gotten together, Stan. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t feel like you could tell me sooner, Ford, I’m your _brother_.” Stan jabbed his thumb in Rick’s direction. “And it’s not like I wouldn’t have understood.”

“Stan, it’s not like we didn’t give you any clues. Why do you think we were so…accepting of you and Rick?” Ford said while Fiddleford shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Stan didn’t really think the fact that they were gay - or somewhere on the spectrum, whatever - themselves made it surefire that they’d greet Stan’s own sexuality with open arms, but he decided it wasn’t worth the argument. “What do I look like to you, a  _detective?”_

“Yeah, you gotta - gotta really spell things out for him,” Rick said, picking his teeth. “Took me sucking face w-with him for him to finally get that I was hitting on him.”

“ _Rick_ ,” Stan said and Rick shot him a mock-innocent look.

“Well, in any case,” Fiddleford said awkwardly, “I am thankful you finally know. We were admittedly worried, considerin’ the circumstances…”

“Oh, are - are we saying what we’re thankful for now?” Rick said, before Stan rolled his eyes.

“Look, I don’t care about you guys being…together,” Stan said, then scrunched up his face. “Just…don’t do any of it in front of me. You’re my brother.”

“Only if the same rule applies to you two,” Ford said, glaring at Rick.

“Oh, ho! Oh, how the tables have  _turned!”_ Rick laughed, slapping Stan’s back. 

“Ugh.” Stan grimaced.

“Anyways,” Rick said, standing to his full height, thankfully a lot less drunk than he was at the start of the evening.

“I’m not one to – I-I don’t usually say th-thank you for things, but… the food was the bomb and the coffee was, actually pretty shitty.” he grinned at Stan’s brother and Fiddleford. “Nice to meet you guys, though. Hopefully we - we w-won’t be so loud next time,” Rick chuckled as he slipped on is jacket.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, too, Rick,” Fiddleford said, Standing up to extend his hand over the table.

“N-no problem,  _McFuck-It_ ,” Rick said, smirking as they shook hands.

Fiddleford snorted. “Not very original, I’m afraid.”

“Eh, I don’t really care.” Rick turned to Ford and nodded once. “See ya, later, Te _slut_.”

Ford’s jaw clenched, and Stan stood up, banging his knee against the table. “Okay, Rick, thanksforstoppingbyi’llseeyoulatergoodnight!”

Rick shot a grin over his shoulder.

“C’mon, walk me to the door,  _babe_ ,” he said, fisting Stan’s shirt to pull him along. He slapped his hand off and marched off beside him.

Once they were nearing the front door, Stan said, “Why can’t you just use your portal gun and ‘portal out’ or whatever?”

“Just shut - shut up and c’mon.”

Rick opened the front door and pushed Stan outside, making him almost trip on the porch. 

“Jesus fuck, Rick, I - ”

“Well, that was special,” Rick interrupted. “Y-you - you know I almost vomited three times? And n-not just because of the booze.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Stan said sarcastically. “Why did you bring me out here?”

But Rick went on as if he didn’t hear him. “C-can’t believe you tried to get me to come and eat a wh-whole fucking meal with those twerps, like - like a big ol’ family. You know what dimension Beta-398′s thanksgiving is like? Cannibalism. And - and I’d rather endure that than this shit.”

Stan stood there, his whole body tense before he took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Rick squinted his eyes at him. “…okay, what?”

“Okay, you’re right,” Stan grated out. “You made your point. I shouldn’t have invited you in the first place.”

“Heh,” he said, bopping Stan in the nose. “Glad  _someone_ was paying attention.”

“But I don’t regret being here with my…family.”

“ ** _Uuugh_**. w-way to ride the sappy train,  _Stan_ ,” Rick condemned, squinting up at him.

“No. Rick, I get that you deal with a lot of shit okay. If there’s anyone in this world, or dimension? I don’t really - ” Stan shook his head. “Whatever, the point is, I get it. If anyone can get it, it’s me. Family is shitty. But…I shouldn’t have brought you into it. I’m…sorry.”

“Oh,  _wow_ , Stan,” Rick nearly purred, leaning in close to him. “Never - never thought I’d hear that from you.”

Stan rolled his eyes in disgust, moving to walk away. “You’re drunk, Rick.” or emotionally stunted. _Was there a difference?_

“I know what you are but what am I!” Rick called out with a burst of laughter as Stan entered the home. 

“An asshole,” Stan said, and slammed the door behind him. He stared at the door, listening to Rick’s muffled ravings until a green light flashed from the windows, and then there was silence.

He turned, not surprised to see Ford and Fiddleford standing there.

“Stan, is he…” Fiddleford drifted.

“Is he always this  _difficult?”_  Ford finished for him with a touch of frustration.

Stan ran his hand over his face. “Not all the time.”

“Did you…break up with him?” Fiddleford asked hesitantly.

Stan paused, casting one last look at the door, feeling his heart tighten a moment before sighing. “Not…yet.”

_

It wasn’t much longer after that that Stan went to bed.

He could hear Ford and Fiddleford talking downstairs along with a laughter and stretched silences. How did he _not_ notice? Stan felt like an idiot.

The signs really were all there, now that Stan bothered to think about it. The way they looked at each other, the way they talked, so obviously went beyond a professional level. But…it was so different than what Stan usually saw in a relationship between two men; it didn’t compute to romance in his mind.

Then again, the only reference he had was his own relationship with Rick…

Stan squeezed his eyes shut. 

_Of course._  How ironic that something so romantic couldn't compute with him. How very ironic indeed…

Suddenly a bright green light swirled above him, and Stan nearly screamed when a body fell on top of him. 

“Shit - what the fuck - !” Stan almost called out to Ford when a hand flew to his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, pines, Christ.”

Stan squinted against the dark, seeing Rick’s face bloom into view.

_“Mmm?”_  Stan mumbled, then shoved Rick’s hand away. He rocked back on his heels while Stan sat up, glaring at him. “Rick, what the hell?”

“D-did anyone ever tell you that you scream like a baby?” Rick said, having the audacity to smirk at him.

“Rick,” Stan hissed. “Get out.”

“Nah,” Rick said, reaching forward again. He cupped Stan’s face with surprising affection, leaning over to kiss him. 

His lips didn’t taste as bitter as they usually did, but Stan remained stoic, not allowing himself to react. He has been through too much shit just to fall back into Rick’s lap… even if Rick was in his. Whatever. It’s not a perfect metaphor, give a guy a break. 

“C’mon, babe,” Rick said, now trying to kiss his neck.

“I’m not your babe,” Stan replied coldly, “now fuck off.”

Rick leaned back, and Stan was surprised to see Rick look taken back. “Shit, you’re serious?”

It felt like everywhere Rick’s hands were was on fire, and his gaze was melting him. He didn’t want to do this to him, but Stan didn’t have much of a choice. He nodded.

“I-I see,” Rick said, now scooting back until the only place Rick was touching was his body on Stan's thighs above the blanket. They remained quiet for a few moments. “So we’re done, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Stan said awkwardly, looking off to the side. 

“A’ight.” Rick swung his leg over and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still wearing Stan’s shirt; he had his jacket zipped up, but the ends of the too-big shirt spilled out from the bottom in tight frills. Rick sighed.

It all felt kind of unreal. Stan wondered if he should say anymore, but…nothing much else needed to be said, really. 

“Well, I came over for something else, too,” Rick said, and unzipped his coat a bit. “If you want, that is.”

Pulling out a baggy of leafy clumps, Stan recognized it as pot. “Oh…uh.” he wondered if he should say yes. Because, what did it matter? He’d be gone soon anyways.

But maybe…he just wanted it to last as long as it can. 

“Sure,” Stan agreed, and Rick fist pumped the air.

“Sweet - you got any place 'round we can smoke these babies?” Rick waved it in front of him. 

_Here!?_  In the same house as Fiddleford and his twin? Stan was about to protest, then decided against it. After all, it had been a few days since he’d gotten high…

“Okay, fine,” he said, pushing back the covers. “I’ve got a place. But we have to be quiet - no bullshit.”

“Scout’s honor.” He winked.

Stan riffled quietly to find something warm, and tried to ignore the way Rick’s eyes followed him. The silence was almost unbearable, but it was quickly over by the time Stan tugged on some sweats and a long sleeved shirt. 

“Alright, this way.”

The two of them tip-toed around the house until Stan reached the ladder. Climbing up, followed by Rick, they finally made it to the roof. He ignored Rick’s complaints and crawled around, wiggling uneasily across the roof until he was on the other side, where a flat area was found.

“Jackpot!” Rick called, and Stan glared at him. “Heh, m-my b.”

Weather in Oregon was always a bit of a bitch, so Stan was glad that it wasn’t as chilly as it could have been for late November. They sat down side-by-side, Rick’s legs crisscrossed while Stan sat with his legs extended out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. 

Stan was always shit at rolling blunts because his hands were way too big, so he watched Rick’s lithe fingers roll beside him. He glanced up at Stan and their eyes connected a moment before both looked back down.

“Take a picture,” Rick muttered, taking a lighter out of his pocket.

“Hm.” he watched Rick flick it, taking a drag after starting it up. Taking it gingerly from Rick’s hand, he took a hit and started to relax. _Man_ , he mused, _he was really going to miss this…_

“This is a good s-spot,” Rick said, staring up at the sky. “The moon’s huge - fucking gigantic, man.”

“Yeah,” Stan hummed, taking one more hit before passing it on again. “Least I could do. Y’know for meeting my bro and Fidds.”

Rick snorted, holding the blunt carefully in his fingers as he smoked. “That did-didn’t take m-much work. I just dealt with ‘em, Stan.”

“You’re not the kind of guy to ‘deal’ with things. You usually run away.”

“I  _did_ run away.” 

“But you came back,” Stan muttered. “I’m…surprised you came back.”

“Hm, yeah,” Rick said, “me, too.”

Not romantic, but it was…honest. Stan could appreciate it.

Reaching back into his jacket, Stan thought he was going to pull out a bong or something, but instead it was a flask. He uncapped it, taking a swing before belching loudly. 

“That new?” Stan asked.

“Y-yeah,” Rick said, “it might be useful - I-it has its usefulness.” 

Stan snorted. He suddenly felt really tired, and he blinked slowly. Laying down then sounded like a really good idea, and he stretched out with his arms under his head. The roof dug into his back and shoulders, but he was too high to care.

He heard Rick groan a bit before he laid down next to him. They were so close together that he could feel the heat of Rick’s body without having to touch it.

“So how was thanksgiving, y’know, w-with them?”

“It was good.” 

Rick stayed silent for a moment, sucking in a long drag before blowing it out gently. It hung like a cloud above them, swirls covering the stars a moment before fading.

“Until I fucked it up,” Rick mumbled.

Stan sighed. “You didn’t fuck it up.”

“I did. I-I-I’m a grown man. We-well, sort of. But I can – I can admit when I’ve fucked up.”

_Grown man?_  Stan smiled, and hesitantly touched one of Rick’s hand that was between them. He was surprised that Rick let him. He didn’t usually let Stan get so affectionate. Maybe it was the pot.

“Huh,” Stan mused.

“What?”

“I think that’s the closest I’ve ever heard you say an apology.” he looked over at Rick with a small smile, and if it weren’t so dark, he could have sworn he saw a light blush. 

Rick quickly withdrew his hand from under Stan’s, looking away. “Y-yeah well, fuck - fuck you.”

Stan chuckled and returned to staring straight up at the sky while Rick packed away the blunt quietly. He’s reminded of all the crazy stories Rick told him as he watched the stars. How is it that some self-proclaimed scientist even  _wanted_ to spend time with a small town guy like him? These were questions he didn’t think he’d ever want the answers to. 

From his peripheral vision, he could see Rick turn onto his side into an almost fetal position and stare up at him with big brown eyes. “I was really fucked, man… I was really fucked up, Stan.”

“Rick, you’re  _still_ fucked up,” Stan with a soft laugh, now looking back down at him. 

“Heh, yeah.” Rick’s hands were bunched up in front of him, clasped onto the shirt he was wearing. He fiddled with the ends of it. “I like - I really like your shirt.”

Stan began to find it incredibly difficult to keep his eyes off of him, and his heart pounded at the sight of Rick before him. “Yeah, it looks good on you, Rick.”

Rick smirked up at him. “I’d like t-to see you in one of mine.”

“Ha,” he laughed bitterly. “ _That’s_ not going to happen.”

“W-we - we’ll see,” Rick said with a hint of a smile. “One of these days…”

Stan’s heart skyrocketed as he faced Rick again. Rick’s eyes were bloodshot, and a very thin film of liquid coated the corners of his mouth, but he was the most serious Stan’s seen him in a long time. 

Their faces were so close together, that Stan began to really not give a fuck about the consequences. People are born, they live, they die. What the fuck did it matter if he wanted to kiss Rick Sanchez? Fuck the consequences. 

So he did.

Even after he was pissed about all that Rick’s said to him, and the way he acted downstairs, Stan just wanted to forget about it all and kiss him like nothing else mattered. 

Rick’s hands moved from his shirt to Stan’s sleeves, grasping onto them like a life preserver. His mouth tasted tart, but Stan couldn’t find the urge to care. Opening his mouth, he deepened the kiss and Rick moaned beside him. 

Rick then kicked up one leg and swung it around until he was on top of him. He then ripped his mouth away and held his head in his hands. “Oh, f-fuck…head rush.”

Stan chuckled, kissing down Rick’s neck and tonguing his collarbone. It was sweaty and salty, but the sounds Rick made was worth it. Rick’s hands grabbed at Stan, one threading into his brown hair while the other twisted under the waistband of his sweatpants. His hips jolted up when he grabbed his cock and Rick chuckled.

“St-still got it…” Rick said breathlessly before connecting their mouths again. 

Stan hummed against his mouth, grasping onto Rick’s hips to rock his crotch against his leg. Their kisses became sloppier, less lips and more tongue, and he could feel their collected spit cool on his face against the nighttime air.

“Ah, fuck,” Rick groaned, and Stan thought it was just one of his babbles, until Rick began to pull away.

“Wh-what?” Stan slurred, the pot in his body making things really hard to focus on.

“I c-can’t get my d-dick up, St-Stan,” Rick whispered against his mouth like it was a secret and Stan started laughing. Rick followed, his body shaking on top of him. “I have - I’ve got wh-wh - whisky dick, Stan.”

“Sh-shit,” Stan wheezed, and their howls of laughter could probably be heard from inside the house. Oh well. 

Rick shimmed off of Stan, collapsing beside him but kept a hand on his stomach. They finally dwindled down to mere chuckles and sniggers, until finally they were too high and too tired to do much else except lay side-by-side.

“Th-Thanksgiving’s a stupid holiday, anyways,” Rick mumbled. “N-nothing but a…a stupid, earth holiday invented because s-some racists wanted some free food… and land… and shit.” 

“Yeah.” Stan hummed.

“I’m g-gonna make a holiday and name it after myself – I’m gonna, gonna call it… _Ricksgiving_.”

Stan started laughing again, “That’s that stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Rick looked over at him, and Stan could have sworn there were stars in his eyes. “Haha, yeah…” 

Their lips met again, pushing against each other lazily. Rick curled up against his side, hooking one leg across Stan’s and sighed. 

Stan, through the fogginess in his brain looked down at him, and thought _I’m happy._ He kissed Rick’s clammy forehead. “Happy thanksgiving.”

“Happy Ricksgiving, beyotch,” Rick mumbled before he began to snore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are appreciated!! 
> 
> Chapter title provided to you by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q--ITc020dg
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr (painapple505) and talk Stanchez with me.


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